“I wish you could. The man I’m seeing is getting serious and I’m not sure we’re a good match.”
“What’s the problem? Different religion? Different backgrounds? Different ideas for the future?”
“All of the above, I’m afraid.”
“In my experience, like must marry like for an enduring relationship.” He cleared his throat. “Do you need the rest of the day off?”
“No, sir. I think I’d rather work.”
He lifted one brow.
“I’ll get right on that file, Mr. Cummings. I promise.”
“Very well.” He gave her a concerned look before returning to his office.
~ * ~
Bryn thought the day would never end. It took every ounce of concentration she possessed to put Conor out of her mind and give her full attention to the work at hand. Mr. Cummings bidher goodnight, with a hope that she would be on her game in the morning.
With a sigh, she shut down her computer, gathered her things, and left the office. How was she ever going to decide what to do about Conor?
~ * ~
“How’s it going with Bryn?”
Conor glanced at his father over the head of the woman he was preying on. “Okay, I guess. She’s having trouble with what I am.” He brushed the woman’s hair away from her neck. “I don’t know how to change her mind.”
Saintcrow sealed the tiny punctures in his prey’s neck and sent her on her way, oblivious to what had happened. “In the end, it’s up to Bryn. Either she can live with what you are or she can’t. It shouldn’t be too hard. She works days while you’re at rest. You can be together nights until you get past the sunlight aversion.” He shrugged. “You can make it work, if she’s willing to put up with a few eccentricities.”
Conor shook his head. “Eccentricities? It’s not like I sleep with my shoes on or only wear red.”
Saintcrow chuckled. “Are you done there?”
“What? Oh. Not yet.” Drawing the woman into his arms, Conor bit her gently and took what he craved, wishing all the while that it was Bryn in his arms, Bryn satisfying his need.
~ * ~
Bryn had just finished dinner when Conor called. She felt a curl of anticipation in the pit of her stomach when she heard his voice.
“Are you busy tonight?” he asked.
“I hope so,” she said, a smile in her voice.
“What time shall I pick you up? Or would you rather stay in?”
“Let’s stay in. I had a kind of a stressful day.”
“Sorry.”
“You should be. It’s your fault.”
“My fault? How so?”
“I can’t think of anything but you. It’s affecting my work. Even my boss is asking what’s wrong. How soon can you be here?”
“I’ll be there before you open the door.”
She ended the call and ran toward the front door.